


To Start A Quest You Must:

by MixterGlacia



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, Crossover, Multi, Pokemon Battle, Trials
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 14:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14595105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MixterGlacia/pseuds/MixterGlacia
Summary: All Wash wanted for his eleventh birthday was to have a Pokémon. All he wanted for his eighteenth birthday was...still a Pokémon.(RvB/Pokémon AU)





	1. Take A Step

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's another au, don't judge me

David Washington, his sisters, and his mother had planned on moving to the Alola region when the boy turned eleven. Of course, nothing ever really goes to plan for their family. Like,  _ never  _ ever. Things came up, they always do. They just kept hitting every roadblock they possibly could. Fife and Quincy had to go to the hospital. Cashmere needed a school uniform. Rainier went through another pack of diapers. Little things, big things, and so on and so forth.

 

Of course, Wash thought he would just start his Pokémon journey right then. All it took was a quick visit to Professor Oak, right?

 

With a firm hand and watery eyes, Wash’s mother stopped him at the door. She begged for him to just hold off until after the move so they could save up. The boy promised to honor her request, grinning ear to ear. (Despite the disappointment brewing in his heart.)

 

Seven years later, Wash is eighteen and moving out. His sisters went to live with their father in Kalos, but Alola had captured the young man's dreams. True to his word, he'd held off from a traditional Pokémon journey.

 

Until now... hopefully this Island Challenge thing doesn't have an age limit.

 

* * *

 

 

Professor Kukui is only six years older than Wash and is gleefully showing off a trio of playful Pokémon to the younger man. Not that Wash had planned on getting a Pokémon this way. How would he have known a swarm of youngsters were going to come stampeding down the trail? It wasn't like he wanted to fall into the lush grass!

 

Not that it really mattered. Wash simply can not say no to the sweet Litten purring up a storm, winding about his ankles. It’s physically impossible.

 

Swallowing around the lump forming in his throat, Wash takes his first steps as a Pokémon Trainer.

 

For the early weeks, it's just Litten at his side. She's spoiled rotten and growing powerful. Except, trainers have more than just one Pokémon. That's where Wash is having trouble. Most capture attempts fail spectacularly. Until the morning that a Magnemite darts at him in a thick patch of grass near some sort of school. They don't struggle against the Pokéball, seeming to give up immediately.

 

Much to his amazement, the Pokémon adores being by the sullen man's side as much as Litten, and she's practically attached to Wash’s hip.

 

Currently, Wash is indulging the two with malasadas. The Pokémon feast like they're royalty. As Wash goes to the counter to pay, the door jingles merrily before being drowned out by an argument revving up. 

 

“Why are we here again?”

 

“Because the won't take my order! They keep hanging up on me!”

 

“You don't need more malasadas!”

 

“That is god-damned  _ slander _ , Simmons! Take it back!”

 

Wow, Wash wants to have absolutely  _ nothing _ to do with this. He should have used cash, because the cashier is now holding his card hostage, yelling at the two behind him.

 

“You know you and those Blue guys aren't allowed here!” She scolds, “All you do is get into fights and run off without paying!”

 

Wash risks a glance back towards the noise makers to find a pair of teens so different from one another it's almost laughable. The only similarity is their uniforms, set apart by their colour choices. There's a tall one in maroon, twiggy and twitchy. He seems to be on the verge of a panic attack. 

 

Then there's the heavy set one in orange, which Wash would bet is a born and bred Alolan. He's downright furious, chest heaving with rage, brows almost sewn together. It's this one that barks out, “Yeah, I wanna know  _ why _ you don't just let me order them! I'm fucking starving here!”

 

Wash doubts that.

 

“You're a menace!” The cashier retorts, “So get out of here before I call the police!”

 

Then the fat teen notices Wash is watching him, face lighting up with a spiteful look. “Can you believe this shit!?” He gestures manically towards the counter.

 

Before Wash has the sense to think it through, he reacts dryly, “You rushing in here and demanding food isn't really going to earn you much sympathy from me. Or anyone, really.”

 

“ _ What did you say?! _ ” Is the only warning Wash gets before the flash of a Pokéball illuminates the café. 

 

When it fades, a well fed Rattata (or, what Wash thinks must be a Rattata. It looks like one grew a moustache.) yawns, rubbing at its face with its paws.

 

While Wash is certainly alarmed by his first real trainer battle being thrust on him so suddenly, he manages to keep his cool. With remarkable ease, Litten takes down the irate teenagers’ Pokémon, grooming herself proudly.

 

“ _Grif_ let's go!!” The tall one begs desperately, “This guy is no joke!”

 

So Grif is the shouty one. Good to know, Wash guesses. That probably means that the other one is that Simmons guy Grif was screaming at. 

 

Grif’s face is blotchy, teeth bared. “He's just a stupid mainlander with good luck!”

 

“I don't care, we're leaving!” Simmons fires back, wrestling Grif away from the counter, struggling to keep the big guy under control.

 

Grif manages to flip Wash off before the door slams shut.

 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a wistful chuckle winds into the silence. “I thought I was going to have to step in, but good golly you sure showed those ragamuffins what for.”

 

Wash finds a trainer in a deep blue get up with aqua accents stepping out from a booth. His long hair flows behind him elegantly. “I'm Florida, the local captain here.” He hums, extending a hand.

 

(Okay, all jokes aside, this dude kinda unsettles Wash. Which is dumb because he's been the flawless definition of polite.) Mentally berating himself for his relentless paranoia, Wash returns the greeting warily. “ 'm Washington.”

 

“Oh what a darling name!” Florida chortles, shifting his weight to one leg. “Sorry about those Spectrum kiddos. They're not really dangerous, I promise.”

 

“... Spectrum?”

 

The captain smirks mischievously. “As in Team Spectrum?”

 

Wash can't help flashing back to his childhood. Visions of his sister's Ponyta being stolen. Uniforms of black and red. “From past experience, any group like that can be dangerous.”

 

Florida somehow manages to snort  _ gracefully _ , covering his mouth.

 

“What's funny about that?” Wash bristles, shoulders hunching.

 

The...well, Wash can't be sure if Florida is an adult or not, actually...whatever age bracket he’s in, the guy wipes at his eyes. “Oh no, it’s not  _ what _ you said, sweetheart. It's  _ how _ you said it. You sound like Carolina.”

 

“Who?”

 

“If you really are a trial goer? You'll meet her soon enough.” Florida hints mysteriously before gesturing extravagantly, arms open wide. “But first, you'll have to challenge my trial! So grab some swim trunks and meet me at the beach!”

 

Wash decides that something is most certainly wrong with the water in Alola. Though, if he's really being honest, this last ten minutes has been more fun than he's ever had before.


	2. Take a Dip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash challenges Florida's trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus begins the major overhaul 2k18. (I didn't want to force them into the present trials, so why not make my own?)

Well this is probably the most vulnerable Wash has ever felt in the history of forever. On this beach with the wind tugging at his dreadlocks and trunks. Sand has found its way into places that Wash knows haven’t touched the shore. (He’d know if he licked the beach. Which he hadn’t.)

 

* * *

 

 

The whole debacle ahead of him was more than worth it, though. In his efforts to earn some extra pocket change to get a pair of swim shorts, Wash found himself scrounging around the untamed sections of Hau’oli. As he glances around, much to his shock, there’s an itty bitty Meowth. Ribs strain through its grey coat, shivering with a chill that it can’t seem to shake. It’s tucked into the furthest corner of a long abandoned alley, and when it notices Wash, it mewls pathetically, stumbling over to him.

 

Wash’s heart shatters like glass. It’s obvious to him that the little one was dumped here by its owners. All wild Meowths he’d met would hiss and claw, running at the first hint of humans. Instead, this one was crawling into his lap, begging to be held. Of course, Wash does just that. Scooping it into his arms as it licks at his fingertips.

 

The man makes a beeline for the Pokémon Center, only to be halted in the door by a familiar sight. Or rather, a familiar outfit.

 

One not at all unlike the ones that Grif and Simmons had worn. What was their gang called again?

 

“C’moooon, Doc’! Us Spectrum guys gotta stick together!”

 

Oh, that’s right.

 

“Look Donut, I’m with the  _ Pastels _ not the Reds! Just because Spectrum is ‘technically’ one team doesn’t mean the factions are meaningless!” pleads a fellow in a different uniform with a shiny Miltank mooing at his side.

 

That’s actually really interesting information to learn. Rather, it would be if Wash didn’t have a very sick kitten in his hands. Local gang politics can  _ wait _ .

 

Side stepping the two, he rushes up to the counter, fretting as the nurse gives the cat a once over. She takes Wash’s contact information in case he has to step out and spirits the Meowth to wherever it is they take critical Pokémon cases.

 

Wash has settled at the café, leg bouncing as he sips at his Komala coffee when he hears,

 

“Oh, heyyy! Aren’t you that guy who gave Grif the reach around?”

 

The purple guy had taken a seat beside Wash and he snaps to attention like ice had been dumped down his back. “It’s  _ run _ around, Donut!”

 

Wash wonders if he can drown himself in a half-full mug of coffee.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been enough time for Wash to have drifted off to sleep in one of the chairs when he’s roused by an incessant mooing in his ear, it must be that kid’s Miltank. He scowls before he can even open his eyes to confirm if he’s right.

 

A hushed “whisper” rings out like a thunderclap in the darkened Pokécenter. (They started dimming the lights by popular request from around midnight to five in the morning.) “Baby girl, SHH! He’s sleeping!”

 

Well he might have been if that Pastel guy wasn’t there. What was his name? Something medically related, right? Then there’s a loud chime, signaling the door being opened. The footsteps sound uneven. Wash cracks open an eye, squinting at the light flooding in from the street.

 

“Thought I’d find you here, Doc’.” states a man who holds the record for the most intense person Wash has ever personally seen. “One of the Blue’s got his head stuck in the fence of your garden...again.”

 

Doc’ bolts upright, “What?! Why didn’t you call me, Siris!!?”

 

Siris (if that is who he is) rolls his eyes, and when he turns, Wash sees a glint of steel shining from where the end of the guy’s pants probably are. “We did. Maybe if you would answer it, we’d get some stuff done.”

 

The Pastel huffs indignantly, stamping a foot. Instead of responding, he calls his Miltank back to her Pokéball then dashes out the door without giving Wash a second thought. His presumed comrade, however, gives him one last intense glare before following Doc’ out.

 

_ ‘Why can’t I just  _ **_sleep_ ** _. Isn’t Alola supposed to be laid back?’ _ Wash wonders to himself before a strong meow draws his attention to the counter.

 

The nurse is holding the little Meowth in her arms, but the kitty’s attention is solely on Wash and Wash alone. It paws at the air, beckoning him over with wide eyes. In a heartbeat, he complies, looking to the nurse hopefully.

 

“She’s made a full recovery, since you got her here when you did. Still, she’s quite underweight. Not to mention she’s likely the runt of her litter. If you plan to keep her, you’ll have to give her plenty of love and attention.” The woman gives him a look. “You got that?”

 

Wash nods, smiling softly, face full of relife. He scratches the Pokémon under her chin. “She’ll be safe with me.”

 

* * *

 

 

That’s how she wound up joining Wash’s little troupe, bringing their number to three. The Meowth is dashing to and fro in the sand around the trial barricades.

 

Wash scoops her up into his arms, giving her a pat before sending her back to her ball. Then he steps inside, finding a sectioned off portion of shore and surf stretching out before him.

 

“Yoohoo~! Over here, Washy!”

 

W-...Washy?

 

Florida is perched at the end of a perilous string of rocks, looking like he’s torn from the pages of a fashion magazine. Hopping skillfully from one stone to another, he’s standing before Wash in no time, grinning like a Ninetales.

 

“You look so precious! Are my eyes dirty little liars, or is that a new Pokéball on your belt?” Florida muses, hair streaming in the breeze.

 

“Yeah, I uh, I found someone new.” He mutters, shying away from the fellow’s sunny disposition. 

 

“Well that’s just dandy! You’ll need lots of help along the way!” The younger teen (man?) smirks, tossing his head. “My trial starts now!” He announces before handing Wash a large net, not unlike a butterfly net.

 

Surely reacting to Wash’s confused face, Florida elaborates. “I would like you to search for as many shells as your darling little fingers can find! Now you do have a time limit here, five minutes should do just fine! We’ll toss them back when you’re done!” A snicker is stifled. “But be warned! The local Pokémon are mighty feisty! Be ready for more than a few battles.”

 

This is how Wash learns that many fish Pokémon not only bite, but they also have sizable teeth.

 

Huffing irritably with a small satchel of shells over his shoulder, Wash reaches Florida at that far rocky platform he’d first spotted the captain at. Something feels so wrong out here. Maybe it’s that the water is decidedly  _ not  _ crystal clear this far out. Quite the opposite of what Wash had been splashing around in.

 

“You’re so close, Washy!” Florida declares brightly. “Just one more teensy tiny catch before you go...there’s these Pokémon here. They’re not like anything you could have found on that mainland of yours. Us locals call ‘em Totem Pokémon.”

 

As if on cue, the water explodes upwards from the formerly calm, dark seas. Wash is showered in frigid, salty surf. When it clears enough to see, there’s an enormous Bruxish bearing down on him.

 

Gods, he hopes Magnemite has enough energy left to take this thing out.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s so damn tired. The fancy new blue Z-Crystal weighing down his Z-Ring does make him feel better.

 

Kinda.

 

He glowers at Florida’s eternally joyful nature, but the trainer offers him one final tip.

 

“There’s just one last part of the Challenge for you on our lovely little island here. The kahuna himself! Keep your wits about you, Felix is a tricky fella to take on. Best of luck, my dearest Washy!”

 

Felix, huh? Sounds more fun than Florida. Probably because Wash can see why he was suspicious when he first met the captain.

 

Still, with three wonderful Pokémon at his side, that’s more than enough. More than mom ever gave him. More than he ever thought he’d get to experience. 

 

More seems to be the vibe Alola gives off.

 


	3. Make a Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash meets a new member of Team Spectrum and challenges the kahuna.

Wash isn’t exactly expecting to meet anyone from Team Spectrum again so soon. (He didn’t recognize this variant of uniform yet.)  Especially not one this crass, who seemingly isn’t interested in a battle. He’s just...well he’s sort of growing on Wash already.

 

He had run into the uniformed teen along an otherwise isolated strip of sand, tending to a Gyarados that’s whimpering in pain.

 

“C’mon buddy, you’ll be as fine as those swimsuit models in a sec’. Stop fussin’ already.” Though his words are terse, his voice holds nothing but warm comfort.

 

Then he spots Wash.

 

He just glares at Wash for what seems like forever, then he scowls, “Not in the mood for a fight, so unless you’re just captivated by my bod’, you can piss off.”

 

Wow.

 

“I’m just...uh, passing through.” Wash mumbles tugging at the flared cuff of his glove. Maybe…”Your Pokémon, he looks pretty rough. Can I help?”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those Charon Corp guys!” The kid is going for another Pokéball, face stormy.

 

“A what?! I’m just a  _ normal _ guy!” The tired man defends. He should stop by his place before he takes on the kahuna...but that’s not really the issue at hand is it? “I’ve got too many potions, I was just gonna toss a few your way. That’s all.”

 

The Blue (he must be, it was the only faction Wash hadn’t seen yet.) rolls his eyes, sighing. “Guess you’re not flashy enough for those dicks. You new? Never seen you before.”

 

Wash shakes his head. “I’ve been here for two weeks I think.” He mutters, rooting through his bag. “From the Kanto area.”

 

That seems to surprise the teen. “Wait, are you the mainlander that Doc talked about when he had to rescue Caboose from his fence?”

 

Why do these Spectrum goons not stay out of each other’s business? 

 

“I might be? He could have meant any-” Wash tries to reason before he’s cut off.

 

“There’s only so many adults taking the island challenge, dude.” He’s leveled Wash with a  _ withering _ stare. “As in, there’s one. I’d wager that knickknack you’re carting around isn’t for show?”

 

“Oh.” Wash mumbles. “Yeah, it’s not for show. I’m Washington.”

 

“Pft. Name like that, you’ll be a Captain in no time.”

 

The confusion must reach his face because the Blue smirks. “They’ve all got names from the Libertie Region. You already found Florida. There’s more where that came from.” He finally stands up fully, one hand braced on his hip. “I’m Tucker, by the way.”

 

Wash isn’t surprised when he doesn’t offer a handshake.

 

“Y’know, if you decide to  _ not _ go through with this whole challenge bs, you could just come chill with us at Blue base. You seem like you need a break from stress.”

 

Wow, a few minutes and Tucker’s already got Wash figured out. Still, he challenges, “You don’t know me that well. I’m not a ‘chill’ guy, according to folks back home.” 

 

“It’s not in the job description. We’re a team, not a mold. You don’t have to fit some aesthetic.” Tucker fires back and it strikes Wash into silence.

 

Why does that sound so  _ nice _ ? How is it that these admitted criminals can chip into his (not-so) flawless armor? Something that Wash had buried long ago  _ cries _ out to just throw caution to the winds and take the offer. To, just this once, let go of the rusty dreams of a child. A child with eyes so full of awe that he didn’t see the weary world for what it truly was until it was too late.

 

“...I can’t.”

 

He hands Tucker some potions and a handful of pokébeans before they part ways.

 

Wash drops by his RV. He feeds his Pokémon and tries to get a few bites of pasta down. He can’t stomach too much before he has to sulk off to his meager bed.

 

The quiet is deafening in the warm Alolan night, and Wash can’t get Tucker’s offer out of his mind. He could be happy with them right? They didn’t hold a candle to his memories of Team Rocket. Not even close. With all the shouting at the malasada shop, Wash knows they’re no angels. He’s no saint himself.

 

He’ll think about it after he deals with the kahuna tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s challenged by a grunt from the Red faction when he leaves his place that morning. They’re sounding like a mini-Grif, and he wipes the floor with them. Hopefully the Blues are as calm as Tucker made them seem because Wash isn’t thrilled to have the spotlight from more than one neurotic organization. Maybe the other two won’t even care about dueling with him.

 

He’s hounded by a few more trainers before he reaches the gateway to Iki Town. The place is almost out of left field with cases, painted with deep indigo and orange littered about. When Wash looks closer, he can see historical weapons on display, each polished to shimmering, deadly perfection.

 

“Like what ya’ see?”

 

Wash throws an elbow back on instinct and is mortified when he makes contact. The mysterious stranger has the sense to at least  _ try _ to avoid the blow but probably didn’t expect to be dodging a swing.

 

When Wash turns, an apology already on his tongue, he finds a young man styled in the same colours of the cases dusting himself off. He rubs at his arm, one perfect brow arched. “You’re a quick one. Wash, yeah?”

 

“I’m sorry I didn-”

 

“Heh. Nothing to be sorry for. Takes a lot more than that to hurt me.” Perfect teeth and a devious smile. There’s thinly veiled malice lurking behind that perfect facade. “Besides. You’re here to challenge me, after all. A little booboo or two is par for the course.”

 

With a snap of meticulously maintained fingers, the (literal) spotlight swings to the kahuna. “There’s many things here more dangerous than you and your Pokémon, Wash.” He remarks with a grin in his voice, though it doesn’t reach his face. Slender legs carry him to a platform not at all unlike the ones Wash recognized from televised Gym matches. “You can’t just dodge them either. No, no. Did you know that much of Alolas produce is toxic until it’s processed?”

 

“I-...no, I didn’t.”

 

It’s only  _ then _ that the grin splits the kahuna’s face in two. “Then let me teach you!” He retrieves a Pokéball from his belt. “You’ll find my Pokémon share something in common with the food here. They’re downright  _ virulent _ .”

 

Now a spotlight blinds Wash, it’s glare unavoidable. When his eyes adjust, he notices a new flash of light. This time it’s red, fading to unveil a Golbat with fangs bared.

 

“The name’s Felix, and your Grand Trial starts now!”

 

Wash didn’t know this was going to be a straight up battle!

 

He sends out Meowth and she mews, beckoning with a paw towards Felix and his Pokémon. It doesn’t take too long before Wash regrets that.

 

She’s trembling like she had when he first found her, crying pitifully from the pain of the venom pulsing in her veins. The bite had looked so minor, how was she so sick?! Before Wash has the chance to recall her, she crumples to the stage. 

 

_ ‘Fainted.’  _ Wash forces himself to remember. ‘ _ She’s just fainted. Don’t be afraid.’ _

 

Wash sends Litten out, she’s the strongest after all. She can take the toxin better, surely. 

 

That’s when Felix  _ cackles. _ As Litten lunges to spit fire, Golbat vanishes in a beam of red. “You didn’t think I’m a one trick Ponyta, did you?”

 

There, radiating flame before him is a Quilava. ‘ _ He’s from Johto?’  _  Wash realizes, trying to think of something, anything at all to gain some ground. He can’t call on Magnemite. He’s still trying to get the types down, but he knows Steel isn’t good against Fire.

 

Litten’s going to have to hold her own until Wash can deal with this. Wash takes a breath to steady himself. 

 

There’s not much style to the way Wash deals with the Quilava. Most of it utilizes Litten’s Double-Kick to brute force his way through the brawl. It finally collapses, fire snuffing before it hits the ground.

 

Felix scowls, calling on Golbat again and Wash takes the chance to let Litten have a break. He brings Magnemite out and discovers that the poison just rolls right off the metal shell.

 

Golbat doesn’t look too hot a few minutes later and Wash can see Felix going for another Pokéball. He shouts for Magnemite to use Thundershock and in a stroke of pure luck, not only does it hit but it’s an especially powerful bolt.

 

Golbat crashes to the earth. Wash feels pride bubble in his chest. That is before the world is consumed by fire. In the middle of it all, an elegant fan of fur waves behind a stunning Ninetales. It looks like it’s smirking, the resemblance to it’s trainer is unmistakable.

 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Wash. Your luck is no match for  _ actual _ skill.” Felix snarls, his hair is tousled from running his hands through it. “Ninetales, Flamethrower!”

 

The blaze sweeps up Magnemite and there’s truly nothing Wash can do to keep them from fainting. It was stupid to throw Magnemite into the fray with no idea of what the third Pokéball on Felix’s belt contained. The kahuna had already displayed he had Fire types at his disposal.

 

He can’t get lost in thought now.  _ ‘Litten, you’re all I have left...I believe in you.’ _ Wash offers silently before sending her in. She’s tiny, hissing upward at the serenely smiling fox. The fight resumes and Litten is losing ground quickly. Felix calls for another Flamethrower and Wash is already resigned to his first loss.

 

Until a brilliant blue light pierces the inferno. It bathes the arena in a cool glow, the shape at its core shifting until it shatters. Growling at his feet is a new Pokémon.  _ ‘Did Litten just...evolve?’ _

 

She looks to him with bright eyes, and flies at her opponent claws outstretched. The tides of battle turn and the Ninetales slumps.

 

The fire is doused and in the smoldering remnants, Felix glares back at Wash. Fury is woven into every line of perfection he calls his own. In the blink of an eye, he composes himself, but now that he knows the signs, Wash still sees the calling cards of Felix’s contempt.

 

“Well, well, well. You certainly surprised me, Wash.” Felix huffs, holding out a hand. “Give me your trainer passport. You’ve earned the Melemele Stamp.” The kahuna swipes the booklet, stamping it quickly. “Also, take this.” He snaps, holding a purple crystal out.

 

“Poisonium Z. Use it to cripple all that stand in your way.”

 

It’s not until Wash is in the Pokécenter that he realizes it’s Torracat now, rather than Litten. Now he’s got to get to the next island.

 

Maybe he can bribe Tucker into letting Wash borrow his Gyarados.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, Felix just -collects- dangerous things. He's -totally- not a mad lad.


	4. Take a Hike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without the RidePager, Wash is going to have to be a little more traditional in getting around Alola's islands.

A few weeks passed since Wash’s battle with Felix, and he’s not been having any luck with finding a way off the island. His first thought was to look for that Blue guy, Tucker. Yet the teen and his Gyarados are long gone. Wash asked around, and the locals explained that some of the high ranked Pastels called Melemele home, but the Reds and Blues only swung through for short visits.

 

“Most of the Blues are on Ula’ula,” A trainer with a literal _basket_ of mewling Espurrs tells him, “but there’s a guy who hangs around up-” He points over at the massive hill that casts shadows onto Kukui’s lab. “-there. He’ll get you there. Let him know that Parker sent you.”

 

“I really appreciate it.” Wash smiles, though it’s a little strained. Shouldering his pack, he heads for the trail he likes to take. Passing the lab, he notices a sign. Curiosity takes the helm, and Wash drifts over to it.

 

**“Alola, friends!**

 

**Sorry for the short notice, but I’ll be out of Melemele for the next week! Make like a Pokémon and Bide your time! See you again soon,**

 

**-Kukui”**

 

Looks like the backup plan to his backup plan was gone too. Why was everyone leaving when he needed them? Wash sighs, stretching his back. Hopefully these boots could handle rocky terrain, because this was gonna be a big hike.

 

* * *

 

 

Part way up the slope, Wash lets his team out to take a break. He finds a (sort of) comfortably flat boulder to rest while his poor feet recovered. The shoes had indeed not been built for this kind of thing, and he can see that the soles are pulling away from the rest of the boot. Damn it, these had been pretty expensive, too. He’ll have to find some glue or something on Akala.

 

Wash pulls his bag over while his Pokémon play, dishing out a midday meal for them. Meaty Kibble (or so the box claims) for the girls, and a d-battery for Magnemite.

 

Meowth finishes first, then wanders over to him, demanding affection. He gladly obliges, scratching behind her ears. Before his eyes, Meowths' fur starts glowing until it blinds Wash, forcing him to look away.

 

 _‘Another evolution?’_ he realizes, trying to look through squinted lashes. The spots in his vision clear up to let him finally see-...

 

“Holyshit.” he squeaks. Her face was so...so… _adorable_. “Look at you, big girl!!” Wash coo’s, smoothing his palms over the Persians’ wide cheeks. He thought the ones back in his home town were precious too, but there was an aloofness to them that couldn’t hold a candle to their Alolan counterparts.

 

Persian rumbles warmly before headbutting her trainer, softly. Torracat and Magnemite must realize that they’re missing out, because they sidle up beside their once tiny ‘sister’ and plead for attention. Wash isn’t going to turn them down, but he does have to be more careful so he’s not going to have burns on his hands. He lives for the quiet moments like this, the island challenge is just icing on the cake.

 

Still, if he doesn’t get a move on soon, this guy will be long gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Wash is nearly at the end of the climb, if the signs posted inside were accurate. Out of the dusty shadows, he’s tackled by a Pokémon. When he sits up, there’s a Mawile snarling down at him.

 

It has been a while since he tried to catch something. After all, he’d just rescued Persian, and his team could use a new member. Wash has heard that Mawiles’ have good typing, so why not? He calls on Magnemite, rather than risking the Pokémon fainting from Torracats’ flames, or Persians’ new power.

 

It takes far too much effort, and _finally_ the last of his Pokéballs does the job. With a final shake, the device pings, letting Wash know the capture was successful. He picks it up, letting her out immediately to get her healed up.

 

Mawile just glares at Wash, hissing and growling.

 

Nothing a big malasada can’t fix. Wash pulls it from where he hides them in his pack, unwrapping it. He holds it out to her and her eyes go huge. She starts to go for it, but hesitates, shooting him one more angry glance. Then her frighteningly large jaws lash around, snapping it up in one bite.

 

Wash also gives her a handful of Pokébeans, letting her snack on them while he looks for a potion. She’s not too happy about it, but he has this soft smile on his face while he heals her from the fight. When he was young, Wash knew a trainer from the Hoenn. Her name was Connie, and her parents were Pokémon Rangers. She had been rehabilitating a Mawile for a family in his town. He always wanted one. Not the place, or way he expected to get one, but he finally has one.

 

Calling his new Pokémon back, he dusts himself off, looking over at the warm light at the end of the pathway. He heads onward, and it takes his eyes a while to adjust to the sunlight again. When they do, Wash is struck by the feeling that he should be familiar with the person looking out over the horizon.

 

The logo on his deep violet overcoat, that he knows for sure.

 

Team Pastel. Seems to be a high ranked one too, he thinks. Well, he wasn’t going to head back. If he had to ruin his boots, Wash is at least going to say hi to the man. He’s just cleared his throat, when the stranger turns on his heel.

 

“Hello. You’re here for a battle?”

 

Wash quickly shakes his head.

 

“Oh. Is it the view?” The Pastel glances back over his shoulder, waving Wash over. “Here, take a look. It’s pretty cool.”

 

He’s not sure why, but Wash does just that. Cool doesn’t do the place justice. It’s downright beautiful. For several long moments, the man just takes in the sight until mumbling, “I, uhm...I was told I could ask you for help.”

 

“By…?”

 

“Said his name was Parker?”

 

“Oh.” The Pastel blinks, surprised. “I thought he was still in Kalos, last I checked.”

 

“He did have a whole basket of Espurrs with him?” Wash tries. They’re native to that area, so it might clear up some things…

 

It earns him a sigh. “Yeah, that’s Parker. Of course he’d book a trip just to catch some. He’s been trying to bribe the Blues for one, and they refused.” The fellow trails off into muttering under his breath until, “I’m Siris. How can I help?”

 

Oh, yeah that’s right. He had seen him before. “I needed help getting to Akala…”

 

“I can tell you how to get to the ferry, it’s not far.” Siris offers.

 

Wow, this is gonna be embarrassing. “I...don’t really have the funds to buy a ticket…”

 

“...” The Pastel is judging him (at least Wash thinks he is) for a moment, “I could loan you Pigeot, he knows the way, but…” he taps his chin. “I’d need the favor to be returned.”

 

In a second Wash hatches a plan. “I remember hearing one of your guys has problems with someone getting...stuck in a fence? Regularly??” Please let this work. He hopes he’s remembering the right team here.

 

By the cackling laughter it earns him, he did just that. “So you were awake for that. Thought so.” Siris brushes his hair from his eyes. “Yeah, whenever the Blues are in town, Caboose always ends up with his head stuck in Docs’ fence. I think he tries to get at the Pecha berries.”

 

“I’ll build you guys some new ones, so he can’t get stuck?”

 

Siris smirks, “If you’re paying for the materials too, I’ll accept that. Try and make it so the Rattata can’t get in either.” He offers a hand.

 

Wash takes it, shaking firmly.

 

Alright, so he’s going to have to learn how to make a good fence, in addition to taking the island challenge. All the same, he’s on his way to Akala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So alolan meowths evolve through being happy, and wash spoils her so yeah. And yes, that is my dropship pilot, Parker making his cameo. Espurrs are love, Espurrs are life.


End file.
